“You are insane.”
“What, ’cause I listen to you? ‘I am the last of the Quincy.’ ‘For the honor and pride of the Quincy, I will defeat you.’ Your honor is yours, Uryuu. Nobody else can touch it. Maybe a shinigami’s what you are. But a Quincy’s who you are.” Ichigo glared at the ice biting into them both. “You tell me. How would a Quincy get out of this?”
Stupid question. He’d just tell these vines-that-weren’t to- :Break.:
Stunned, Ishida let Ichigo haul him to his feet. Reached out a shaking hand to a pile of dry branches. :Burn.:
Flames crackled, driving the chill from his flesh.
A swish of storm-static and silk, and the nightmare princess took his hand, thorn-scarred as her own; wounded as he was, bleeding as he had bled. “I am storm. I am terror. I am lightning in the midst of our foes. I have no mercy; not for you, not for our enemies. For I am of you – and we are Destroyers.” Storm-gray eyes glowed, blazing to nightmare red-black. “Name yourself!”
“I am – Ishida Uryuu.”
It staggered him; three hands kept him standing. He breathed, and blinked, wondering what had happened to his vision, everything here was so clear. Kurosaki, the dark-haired stranger in amber sunglasses and Kurosaki’s tattered bankai coat, the storm-robed princess-
His princess. His nightmare. His will to destroy his enemies.
Oh gods, she was beautiful.
“Flatterer.” Charcoal as thunderclouds, full lips bent in a smile, and eyes faded back to saner gray. “I love you too, my Uryuu.” Her face turned stern again. “But we are creatures of shadow magic, and you know what our power requires. We bare our souls to the universe to make it hear us. Without courage, without resolve – we both will break.”